And when the riot starts, you are the sound mind
by Amelia Strange
Summary: (originally written on my Tumblr, and that's where the story prompt came to as well.) After Flesh and Stone - the Doctor gives in to Amy's advances and they do stuff. Adult stuff.


The minute she presses herself on his body, he wants to capitulate immediately. He's been fighting against his feelings for the suddenly (grown-up) Amy, but before he wraps his fingers through her hair and kisses her senseless, he remembers that she's married, and he is surely not getting in the way of that.

It's not that he doesn't like Rory - he and Amy will be good together. But sometimes the Doctor _wants. _However, it frequently ends up that he can't have - parallel dimensions, death, marriage (in this case). Stuff gets in the way.

He knows that she's trying to seduce him, and he buys the pre-wedding jitters excuse. He's seen every variety of pre-wedding jitters (save for this kind), and he once found a Silurian hiding in the TARDIS because she didn't want to get married.

(He dropped her back off. Sometimes he still feels guilty about it.)

Amy keeps slipping off his braces and he pushes them back on, but she gets him pinned against the TARDIS, and then, well, she's kissing him.

Oh dear. (She's not wrong about it having been a while. A while is sometimes difficult to calculate when you're a time traveller, but that's perhaps not the point.)

"But you're human! You're Amy! And you're getting married in the morning!" All valid. The look in Amy's eyes strongly suggests that she doesn't care about that right now.

In response, she kisses him again, and one of her hands slips around and rests on his bum. He groans involuntarily at her touch, and without really thinking, he wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her flush against him and kisses back rather aggressively.

They pull apart and she's smiling wickedly, and even though they travel together he still has a lot of trouble reconciling the little girl in the back garden with the woman (yes, definitely a woman now, no mistaking it) who is actively trying to seduce him.

"You sure the answer's no, Doctor?" She says, looking up at him with a coy smile on her face.

"Yes." Yes, that's the appropriate answer. He should leave now, pop off in the TARDIS, and come back after the wedding when all will hopefully be forgotten. "No. Maybe?" He's not an easy one to totally and completely confuse, but his brain is quite seriously on the fritz here. (This is not something that several regenerations has fixed, and were there anyone else in the same situation that he could consult about it, he would consult them for sure.)

"Once, Doctor," she says, a hand coming up to rest on his cheek. "Just once, and it'll all be fine."

She leans in to him, and, oh, to heck with self-restraint and all of that. Her comment about it being a good hurt to fancy someone you know you shouldn't wasn't only relevant to her. He's been hurting the good hurt for a while.

So, he gives in, and no, he's not proud of it, but that's not the important point right now.

He kisses her back aggressively, biting her lip and his hands slide under the red wool jumper and start to gradually work it off. She slips his braces off his shoulders and begins to unbutton his shirt -

Then, for some reason, she just stops.

She breaks the kiss and then asks, "Doctor, I'm sorry, but I don't know if I can undo a bow tie."

"Yes," he mutters absentmindedly, "perhaps they're a bit less in vogue now then they were a while ago."

He undoes his bow tie, and then Amy grabs it and tosses it off in to a corner. He relieves himself of his shirt and Amy of her sweater, and his brain goes fuzzier than usual when he thinks about how much he'd like to touch and kiss all that ivory skin.

She takes his hand and leads him towards her bed. She kicks her shoes off, and it occurs to him to do the same, and once they're both shoeless she grabs him and pulls him down on to the bed and he sort of falls on top of her gracelessly.

"Sorry," he mutters.

"Has been a while, hasn't it?" Her voice is breathier now, and less full of the seductive quality that it had had earlier.

He rolls his eyes, and kisses her again, because it's addictive and if circumstances were different he'd very likely do more of it.

He's a little unsure of what to do next, so he kisses her neck gently and her whole body tenses under him. He continues, kissing a line down her neck to her collarbone. She rocks her hips against his leg that lies between hers, and he's not sure whether the breathy little gasps that she's making come from that or from the neck kissing. (It probably doesn't matter, because it does things to him that are illegal in certain galaxies.)

He fiddles with the clasp of her bra (which is probably the queerest thing ever invented, and if he were in charge he'd have made it velcro or something easy to undo) and after a few seconds of his ineffective fiddling, she rolls her eyes, sits up, and does it herself.

"Jesus, Doctor," she says, shaking her head at him. He's not entirely sure how to proceed from here, as he's paralysed both with pleasure and with guilt.

He kisses her then, and rolls one of her nipples between his fingers. She moans in to the kiss, and for the first time her seriously asks himself how much experience she's had in these matters, because when he rests his forehead against hers there's fear as well as pleasure in her eyes.

"Amy," he says quietly, "are you sure you're okay?"

She nods, and pulls him back down on top of her. Hesitantly, he takes a breast in his mouth, and she groans and digs her fingernails in to his shoulders. He looks up, quickly, and sees that her face is flushed and her eyes are screwed shut. He tries his best to focus on the taste and softness of her skin and how her body arches every time he swirls his tongue.

Once he's done with her breasts (or, at least he supposes as much), he starts sliding her tights down her legs as slowly as possible, giving her as much time to object as he can. Clearly, she isn't going to - she lifts her hips up to help him pull them off her. She sits up, and with shaking hands she undoes his belt and pulls down his pants, and he kicks them off with as much coordination as he still possesses (and that's very little at the moment).

She has a sort of expectant look in her eyes, as if she wants him to figure out what to do next, which makes no sense at all given that she was the one that was seducing him. It's not like he's had no experience in these matters - quite the contrary, in fact - but suddenly he feels uncomfortable taking the lead.

"Amy," he says, looking her straight in the eye, and also storing an image of her, flushed and looking almost more beautiful than she normally does, "what do you want?"

"You."

He chuckles a little in spite of the situation. "I figured as much. Perhaps be a little more specific?"

She leans back against the pillows with her legs spread open. "Touch me."

Right. Okay. He can do that. He positions herself beside her, and props himself up on one arm. He rests his hand on her belly button and gently slides it down, over the gentle curve of her stomach. He watches her carefully to gauge her reaction, because he's not entirely certain that she'd tell him if he was doing something wrong.

With a deep breath, he slips his hand under the cotton of her knickers in to the warmth and wetness of her folds, and she whimpers quietly. He runs one finger across her clit, and her hips arch in to his touch.

He smiles a little, and kisses her forehead, and then pushes just a little harder, eliciting a cross between a cry and a moan.

He suddenly figures that he's going to need a bit more manoeuvring space if he wants to do this properly, so he tugs her knickers down her legs and off.

He touches in earnest then, and when her head arches back as he slips one finger inside of her, he presses gentle kisses along the sweaty flushed skin. (Perhaps he'd like to kiss a little harder, maybe even leave a mark, but that's not for him to do.)

The little sounds that Amy makes have been becoming more and more desperate, and when he crooks his fingers inside of her she literally and properly screams and shakes.

"Doctor," she gasps, "please…"

He instinctively understands what she wants him to do then, and he crooks his fingers against the spot inside of her that makes her writhe so, and rubs her clit and kisses down on her neck hard enough that he could possibly leave a mark, and she clenches around his fingers and lets out a drawn-out cross between a moan and a scream.

He kisses the pulse point on her neck, and then her forehead, and waits until her heartbeat returns to normal. Usually, he thinks, he'd whisper pleasantries and things like _I love you _at this critical juncture, but that's not what this is about for Amy.

(He's starting to wish that this meant something, that it wasn't just a way for her to sort out her jitters, but alas, it isn't, and that's that.)

He is snapped out of his reverie by Amy palming his cock through the cotton of his knickers, which both titillates him and frightens him.

"Doctor," she says, sounding far more sure of herself than she did a short while earlier, "I want you."

Oh. _Like that. "… _Are you absolutely sure?"

She nods, and slips his knickers off. He feels quite exposed at the moment, with his cock hanging out and Amy staring at it with an expression he can't read.

(It's a bit sad that he immediately mentally jumps to size comparisons when that happens, and in his mind he compares himself to Rory - not that he's ever seen Rory like that. No. And it's a terribly possessive thing of him to think.)

She keeps stroking him slowly, and it's absolutely killing him. He screws his eyes shut and grits his teeth and lets his head drop back.

Amy gets off the bed for a while, and he's briefly confused as to why, but she reappears with one of those funny little packets, and then he realises that it's meant for him. She rips it open, and rolls the thing on to his cock. (Condom. That's the word. Condom.)

"I think I like it better when the bloke on top," Amy says, not meeting his eyes.

Right. That means he has to roll over and on top of her again, which he does, and sort of reminds himself of what happens next before positioning himself at her entrance.

"Amy…" he says, because he is torn between wanting her and wanting to back off for the sake of her marriage.

"Please," she says, and they share one moment of an incredibly intense gaze before he eases himself in to her.

At this point, he just lets go, and drops the veneer of ridiculous self-control he has been trying to maintain during this whole affair. He groans when he feels her wet heat close around him, and he pushes all the way inside of her and stops for a moment to just relish the feeling of doing something so intimate.

He rocks his hips and thrusts in to her, grunting her name each time. She pulls her legs back and wraps them around his waist. Her nails dig in to his back hard every time his cock drags against the spot inside of her.

He wants to wait until she comes again before he does, and she's doing that thing where she gets all shaky and tense and he knows that she's quivering on a knife's edge, waiting to fall off.

He moves his hand between them, and leans in and whispers in her ear, "That's a girl, Amy Pond. Let go for me."

She does, and her hips buck up and she screeches in his ear as she comes, and it doesn't take him too long before his hips stutter against hers and he does the same.

He feels jiggly and boneless as he pulls out of her and disposes of the condom in a spot where he hopes it won't be found, and she's half-asleep on her bed by the time he comes back.

For a moment, he considers curling up beside her, but then he stops himself, because what is Leadworth going to think when she's found asleep with another man on the day of her wedding, and besides, she doesn't really fancy him. (This was not the kind of shagging that is a result of fancying someone, he figures.)

He fights against exhaustion, and pulls on his trousers, and then sets about finding the bits of clothing strewn around Amy's bedroom.

He stops for a moment, because he suddenly thinks to check the date.

June 25th, 11:55 p.m.

That seems oddly significant, and then he realises - oh. Tomorrow's the bad day.

"Amy," he hisses, poking her in the back until she rolls over to face him. "Put some clothes on. We've got to go."

_-fin _


End file.
